


Then Don't

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I don't want to go back,” she mumbled, her voice growing high pitched as her breathing grew hoarse, “I don't want to be your sister anymore.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first jonsa fic in ages. hope you all enjoy

The room was, for all intents and purposes shrouded in darkness. The little candlelight that gave it visibility shimmered in the night air.

Standing at the window, Jon Snow looked out over the courtyard. “The dead will be here soon.” he whispered, his voice strangled and tormented. His face – though not visible – betrayed the hurt and confusion he was now feeling.

“I know.” Sansa whispered back, standing closer to the door. Her voice was tormented also; though not as much as his own, “the final battle.”

The unspoken heat between them was now an inferno; Jon's heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing almost a panting in the silence around them. It had taken him this long to admit what he felt for her – with every glance, every conversation.

_Gods damn me,_ he had thought. _I am not a Lannister. I will not fall for or bed my own sister._

Yet she was not his sister, but his cousin. What did that make him now?

Something he could not answer.

Turning back towards her – she had stepped into the candlelight – Jon took a step forward. Her feet carried her a step forward in response.

“I can't love her.” he admitted, reaching out and grazing the top of one hand against her own. The warmth of her skin was an intoxicant; his heart spiked at the very lightest of contact. “Not anymore.”

He had tried so hard to convince himself that Daenerys was the one he loved; he had bedded her, so why would he not? Yet the revelations about himself had brought the carefully crafted facade crashing down – at least before, he could pretend his forbidden feelings for Sansa were exactly that, forbidden. But now that shield was gone.

In response, she stepped closer, the room glowing hot with the mixing of their breath.

“What then, Jon?” she whispered, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

What then, indeed? Word of his parentage could not leave the two of them – it would bring the entirety of the campaign to a grinding halt as more infighting emerged, and not just among the lords of the North who already despised him.

* * *

Yet if he was to take this step – this base, primal, terrible yet glorious step – there was no going back for them. After all they had endured and struggled for. This was the most dangerous thing in the world for him right now; even more then the Night King or Daenerys' anger.

He licked his lips as he searched for an answer. “If we fall...we fall together.” he warned, the small and rational part of his psyche trying desperately in a last ditch effort to halt the inevitable. “I do not want to see you suffer because of me...again.”

She stepped even closer, the flawless beauty of her skin radiating over him like a heat wave. Jon could not breathe in that moment; it was a strangled gasp at most, the sheer presence of her enough to bring him to his knees were he able. Yet he was too weak to do anything.

“Who would suffer?” she asked, her voice – while still strong, firm and commanding as she was always – betraying the faintest hint of trembling, “This is not suffering, dearest Jon. This is...ecstasy.”

Shaking his head, Jon allowed himself the faintest smile. “No, Sansa. You are my ecstasy.” he admitted, “you have been since that day at Castle Black.”

He nearly came undone when she ran a hand up his chest. Her fingers rested over his heart, now beating loud enough for him to hear. “I don't want to go back,” she mumbled, her voice growing high pitched as her breathing grew hoarse, “I don't want to be your sister anymore.”

Jon longed to bring her hand to his lips, to place kisses on every part of her body; to mend the scars left by men like Joffrey and Ramsay. To heal the betrayals and ease the suffering.

Time had stopped.

“Then don't.”

* * *

Those words sealed his fate. Their lips crashed together, Jon wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. She let out a whimper in response, her hands pulling against his back with the strength of a thousand men.

They did not want to let go. Right now there was only this.

No Daenerys. No Night King. No Aegon Targaryen.

Just Jon and Sansa.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She laughed at his sudden profanity. “Don't forget about your command, my lord.” Sansa teased, “your Lady has ordered your survival. Dare not disobey me, for my wrath is terrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote a part two for you guys. hope you enjoy!

“Lady Stark, the last of the people are in the crypts as ordered.” the soldier bowed.

Sansa nodded. “Good.” She had seen to the evacuation of the few noncombatants – very young children, the infirm and expectant mothers – into the depths of the most sacred place for any Stark. Yet, it was a necessity – the dead having surrounded Winterfell on all sides, making escape impossible.

It would be expected of her to shelter with them, given that she was no fighter. Soon she would descend the stairs and seal the gate, waiting until the battle was won – either by their own forces or the dead – for release.

The chaos of the last few hours had meant she was unable to see Jon; unable to steal another sweet moment as they had last night. The memory of his body against hers, the unbelievable tenderness and genuine love she felt from him as they succumbed to the terrible feelings brewing in their darkest depths...

“Take me to my brother.” she ordered, the soldier offering a bow as he gestured for her to follow.

* * *

 _Brother_ was the easiest part of the lie; at least for now. Yet he was right; the truth of his parentage – as overwhelming as it was for them both – would bring chaos to Winterfell at a time that they could not afford it.

She longed to run away with him; to disappear into the deepest parts of the crypts, where no one could find them. They could make a life in the depths; much as Bael the Bard had done with the previous Lord Stark's daughter, or so the ancient songs had once said.

Yet that was selfish. _The people are counting on us._ She had to put her own desires to the side – even if last night she had been able to embrace them in a typhoon of passion.

They found Jon atop the battlements, overseeing the deployment of the massive army now gathered to defend Winterfell. His arms placed on the ancient stone as he watched the various forces – Unsullied, Dothraki, and Northmen alike – his face was locked in an expression of grim certainty.

His eyes brightened as he took note of her, and it set her own heart to racing – not with nerves, but with the same youthful feelings of love and bliss that she'd long ago crushed beneath her heel.

“Give us a moment, please.” he asked, gesturing at the guard.

* * *

After making sure they were alone she stepped forward, placing herself in his orbit; the sounds of their breathing – hard and ragged was a common theme, it seemed – only muted by the sounds of battle preparation below.

In a quick motion Jon grazed his fingers over her lips, and Sansa let out a shuddering gasp that surprised even her. “T-the last of the noncombatants are in the crypts,” she whispered, the heat in her face rising, cheeks practically glowing with redness, “I...I thought you should know in person.”

If Jon thought himself a monster, then how did she feel? Even before the truth had come out, Sansa found it difficult to reconcile herself with the gnawing, aching desire she built towards Jon over the past few months. His absence had only made things worse instead of better; every thing reminded her of him – she could still smell him in the corridors if she focused hard enough.

Even Ghost's constant support and companionship had not helped; the direwolf had done his best to ease her pain, but how could he know the shameful passions brewing for his master that lay deep within Sansa's heart?

“I never doubted you for a moment.” he said, his hand falling to her side. She grasped it desperately in response. He exhaled sharply as his gaze fell to the gathered army below them. “This is it, I suppose.”

A quiet laugh escaped Sansa's throat. “Not for us.” she protested, “our story is just beginning.”

His face relaxed at her words for a brief moment. “Anything could happen tonight,” he said gently, “besides, if I do fall...Winterfell will still need its Lady. And I know that the North would be in good hands. Proper hands.”

Sansa shoved herself against him, kissing him with the same unleashed passion as last night. Would that we could stay like this forever...

Yet she would not let him go so easily. “As your Lady, I order you to survive.”

Jon bowed his head, the smirk playing havoc with her heart. “Who am I to disobey a command of such magnitude?” he teased, their hands gripping each other tightly. Neither wanted to let go; even Jon's own rough and battle-worn grip was tight and protective.

“I love you, Jon.” she finally said, the words painful and sharp even as they emerged in her own sweet voice. Love was a word that she felt had no place in her life; the last men who had said they loved her had done horrible things to her to “prove” it. Yet Jon was not Joff or Ramsay.

* * *

Tears began to fall from her eyes as she tore her hands from his and grasped his face, “I'm sorry it took this long to say it.”

Much to her surprise, his own eyes began to water at her words. Jon held her by the waist, uncaring of anyone who noticed. “Don't apologize, sweet girl. I should be the one saying sorry to you...” he replied, voice unsteady with his tears.

Another laugh from her lips. “You can make it up to me by surviving.” she groaned, her thumbs wiping gently at the tears as they fell.

Making promises that could not be kept was something Sansa hated. Men of all stripes had done such for years – slowly destroying the ability for her to trust any words that fell from their mouths. Yet, here she was as though a young and foolish girl again, making the man she loved swear a promise she knew was uncertain.

 _Still,_ she thought. _If I am a fool, at least I am not alone._

Stepping back from him – only with the greatest of reluctance – she wiped at her own eyes as she made her way to the stairs. “I should see to the crypt.” she whispered, “the people will need assurances of victory, after all.”

Jon nodded. “We will prevail. Otherwise, we'll give the fuckers a fight even they won't forget.”

She laughed at his sudden profanity. “Don't forget about your command, my lord.” Sansa teased, “your Lady has ordered your survival. Dare not disobey me, for my wrath is terrible.”

* * *

As she descended the stairs, Jon knew that this was what was missing. A reason to live – more then petty politics or epic warfare. Sansa was a reason he still drew breath; the Red Woman may have brought him back, but it was her that kept him going.

And he would not fail.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncaring of who was around, Jon reached up with his hand and cupped her cheek. She let out a gasp, but her body pushed into his touch. “You don't think I need you?” he asked as she saw the faintest of tears fall, “I love you, Sansa. I...I meant it before and I mean it now. But above all, I want you to survive. If this goes bad...” 
> 
> “Do NOT say that,” she barked, resting her hands on his chest. She had to feel the rise and fall of his heart, the heat of his blood. “I ordered you to survive, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you get a third chapter!! you get a third chapter!!! everyone gets a third chapter!!! 
> 
> sorry lol i hope you guys enjoy

“SANSA!” Jon shouted, rattling the iron gate as hard as he could.

Within a few moments, the eyes of frightened small-folk greeted him as she gently worked her way to the head of the bars. Even in the middle of a siege, Jon was unable to tear himself away from the sheer presence that she exuded.

“Is it over?” she whispered, noting Jon's condition. He was covered in blood, with dents in his armor and sweat pouring down his face.

Shaking his head, Jon gestured up the stairs. “No, but we need to evacuate Winterfell. The fires – they're raging too hard to stop at this point.” he panted, “we've secured some wagons to take you clear of the field, but we don't have long.”

Reaching for the key to the lock Sansa found her hands trembling. “We've lost, then.” she despaired, looking up at him.

“It's not over yet,” he assured her, his free hand twitching. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch her, the desire burning strong within his exhausted body even as he struggled for breath with the acrid smoke wafting over the open yard.

Unlocking the gate, Sansa wrapped her arms around him in a hug; perfectly innocent to the onlookers, but her heart knew better. Were it not for the audience around her she would have been perfectly content in losing herself in his embrace.

As she ascended the stairs Sansa could see the damage all around her.

* * *

The castle was half in flames, with thick smoke blocking out many of the major towers. Even over this, the sounds of battle were overwhelming; the screams of the dead and dying, the whinnying of horses and the sounds of the presumed dead – a sort of savage screeching – washing over them.

Soldiers gestured for the group to follow them, heading towards a collapsed door leading back into the main keep that had yet to be damaged by fire. “We've cleared a path to the outer yard,” Jon explained, assuring the panicking folk as they started for the indoors. “Ser Jorah and Jaime are holding them back with the last of our forces, but we have to get you away before the line collapses.”

Sansa did her best to soothe the frightened people; she comforted the young children with hugs or false smiles, and was confident in explaining how the North would prevail to those thick with child.

“Where are we going?” she asked as the trickle of people slowed.

Jon crossed over to where she stood, taking his place at her side. The same familiar heat – not from the flames – stirred around them, and for the briefest of moments she found their eyes locked in the damning gaze of previous meetings.

Now they were the only two in the world. “W-white Harbor.” Jon whispered, “from there, Daenerys has agreed to provide shelter, food and protection at Dragonstone until...well, until this is over.”

“You want us to leave?” Sansa was stunned; how could she abandon the North, especially now? _How could I abandon Jon?_

A harsh laugh escaped his tired lips as he patted her hand; the touch sent shocks up her arm with every passing second. “I don't want you to leave, sweet girl.” he said with a voice hoarse from exhaustion, “but you have to live. All those you have protected and seen to have to survive. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

* * *

“You're part of my pack, Jon!” she shouted back. He had already left once – and came back with a new lover he named as queen. Now she was the one forced to leave, while he stayed to battle an enemy that had almost battered down the walls of their home? “I...I need you. Arya, Bran – we need you.”

Uncaring of who was around, Jon reached up with his hand and cupped her cheek. She let out a gasp, but her body pushed into his touch. “You don't think I need you?” he asked as she saw the faintest of tears fall, “I love you, Sansa. I...I meant it before and I mean it now. But above all, I want you to survive. If this goes bad...”

“Do NOT say that,” she barked, resting her hands on his chest. She had to feel the rise and fall of his heart, the heat of his blood. “I ordered you to survive, remember?”

Jon rested his head against hers as he glanced around the courtyard.

Their lips met again, Sansa throwing herself into his arms with all of the sadness, desire, need, lust and anger she could muster.

Jon pushed back, tears falling freely now as he lost himself in her.

It was a painful moment as he broke their grip, nodding for her to go. “Please, Sansa.”

“I know this is a touching moment, but – we don't have long!” a voice said from beside them. Dread pooled in Sansa's stomach as she looked to where Jaime Lannister stood as battle-worn and exhausted as Jon did. “We've had word that the Dothraki are moving back for another charge, but the Unsullied are buckling. We have to get to them or we're dead, Snow.”

Jon looked between Sansa and the Kingslayer. “I'll come back to you. I promise.”

 

* * *

His heart ached – half with grief at having to leave her, the other half with fury that the dead had forced their hand in such a manner. Jon felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders now; more then ever, with the fate of Sansa guaranteed – that no matter what happened, she would live – he had to focus on ending this threat once and for all.

“I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything.” he coughed as he stood next to Jaime.

In response, the Lannister nodded – no sarcastic quips or mockery – and patted his shoulder. “We don't choose who we love.”

_I ordered you to survive, remember?_

He remembered. And he would obey as a good soldier did.

* * *

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lady Stark!” one of the Dragonstone guards addressed her as she sat at the Painted Table.
> 
> Looking up from her book – one about the ancient lineages of Targaryen princes – she raised a brow towards the young man.
> 
> “A ship's pulled into the harbor, m'lady.” he informed her, “it's flying the Stark colors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably sucks but thanks for reading!! :D

From the moment the ships touched down at Dragonstone, Sansa busied herself with overseeing the needs of her people. From food to shelters and protection alike, she threw herself into the role with as much energy as she could muster; it was important for her to see to the health and well being of her fellow Northerners, but also to help keep her mind off of any horrible, alternate futures that tormented her dreams.

In her nightmares she saw Jon, only with the same glowing blue eyes as those of the dead she'd seen that night. His cold and clammy fingers wrapped tight around her neck and squeezed the very life from her lungs, even as she fought like a trapped animal to escape. Her vision would slowly fade as the creature inhabiting his body snarled and screamed – and it was by that point that she would wake up, drenched in sweat.

Still, in her off moments she would think of him in a more positive way in an effort to counter the nightmares; she felt the heat of his body next to his, or imagined his lips on hers – anything to help ease the pain of his absence; not an easy task given the length and time of their separation.

But Jon was a fighter; he would not give up so easily. Sansa found herself – for the first time in many ages – praying to both her mother's and father's gods to watch over him; to see him to victory and to bring him back to her alive and whole.

 

* * *

“Lady Stark!” one of the Dragonstone guards addressed her as she sat at the Painted Table.

Looking up from her book – one about the ancient lineages of Targaryen princes – she raised a brow towards the young man.

“A ship's pulled into the harbor, m'lady.” he informed her, “it's flying the Stark colors.”

Her heart surged as she rose slowly to her feet. She had to project the appearance of calm in this southern place; emotion was weakness, even among supposed allies. “Good.” she said, her voice on the verge of cracking; even still, she held it back. “Bring me to the docks.”

Following the guard down the winding corridors of the Targaryen stronghold, Sansa felt the nerves wreaking havoc in her whole body. She pushed aside all thought save for that of what her heart desired – was Jon alive or dead? She had ordered him to come back to her, after all.

If he had survived this – then the truth about his parentage would need to be revealed sooner then later, something that could throw complications into everything about the current war for the Iron Throne. Though she knew Jon had no interest in the chair, would it be enough to assuage his ex-lover and aunt of that?

 _No,_ she told herself. _You are thinking too far ahead – focus on seeing him. Finding out about him._

Reaching the docks, she watched from a distance as the crew and its passengers debarked. No one she recognized were among them, though she spotted a few guards wearing the uniforms of Winterfell; certainly a good sign.

The agony of waiting felt like searing blades going through her heart one by one; Sansa bore the pain in secret, keeping up the facade of calm and collected as she watched for any sign of him. W _ould that I could wait here forever if it brought him to me_ , she lamented.

It took only a glimpse of his ragged hair for her to launch forward, propelling herself into his arms as he stepped off the deck. All others around were forgotten; there was no Dragonstone or sailors or soldiers; it was just Sansa and Jon once again.

“I told you I would obey,” he whispered with a chuckle, hugging her back just as hard.

She laughed, feeling the emotions welling up inside of her. Slowly, the pair stepped away from the docks and off towards the side, allowing the crew to continue their tasks.

Jon looked rough; Sansa saw now that they were properly reunited. The left side of his face was covered in a blackish brown bruise, his left arm was wrapped up tight in a sling and he walked with a noticeable limp. None of that mattered, however – he was alive and that was the only thing important about this moment.

* * *

Behind some large crates she kissed him, gently easing her body into his. The same heat, the fire – passion, she finally knew – bubbled up into their bodies. The hunger, the want, and the need between them was enough to melt Valyrian steel.

Jon's free hand caressed her cheek as she ran her hands over his body softly. “Looks like you do obey after all, Lord Snow.” she teased, running a hand through his hair.

Tears began to fall from his face as she spoke as he smiled. “The gods know how much I missed you, Sansa. Would that I could have come here sooner, but I had to heal at least some. Maester Wolkan still didn't want me to travel, but I told him I was leaving and that was that.”

“Winterfell?” she asked, tearing herself away from him only for the briefest of moments.

Wiping at his face as he cleared the tears, Jon nodded. “Damaged, but enough is intact for us to start rebuilding.”

“What about our family?”

Jon groaned, leaning up against the boxes for support as his leg radiated pain. Sansa gripped him for support as he did so. “Arya is fine. She's overseeing the rebuilding, along with Gendry. Bran was in and out of consciousness for most of the last months but he's starting to come around, too. Been smiling a lot more, which is something at least.”

Relief washed over her at the news. Apart from Jon, her siblings were all that mattered to her in that moment. Sansa had done drastic things to protect them and her home – and would continue to do so no matter what came in the trials ahead.

"Good. Now, shut up and kiss me.” she grinned.

“Another order, Lady Stark?”

Pushing her head against his, Sansa smirked.

 


End file.
